You Can Run, But You Can't Hide
by GloriaNewt
Summary: You can't hide from your past, as Constance Hardbroom is about to discover. Only this time, it brings consequences for everyone at Cackles..  I would say the opening is a K rating, but it gets darker as it goes on- enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**You Can Run, But You Can't Hide**

You can't hide from your past, as Constance Hardbroom is about to discover. Only this time, it brings consequences for everyone at Cackles..

**Authors Note: This story starts the same time period as "The Inspector Calls" episode in Mildred's second year. Please forgive me for repeating some of the opening material from this episode, but I felt it was needed to set the scene a bit. I have taken a bit of artistic license by having Mildred discover her unique talent a year earlier than originally shown, but this is quite important to the overall plot later on. Please review and let me know what you think, but bear in mind this is my first attempt at a fan fic so it may not be perfect **

***waves to fellow writers and Worst Witch fans, then shuffles back under rock again***

**DISCLAIMER: I do not own the rights to any of Jill Murphy's wonderful characters**

**Chapter 1**

She had not, reflected Constance Hardbroom, had a worse day in years. She sat at her dressing table, her shaking hands attempting to pull her antique silver hairbrush through her thick, glossy mane of ebony hair, which had been released from its usual tight bun and cascaded down her back.

The flickering candle light bounced shadows off the bare stone walls. Constance put her aching head into her hands, desperately seeking a solution to the impossible situation that she now faced. She took the small bottle of Wide Awake Potion from the trinket box on her desk- she really had been burning the candle at both ends recently, but it was important that she remained alert, she could not afford to surrender to the fatigue that threatened to envelope her, for she knew the consequences that it would bring. She raised the bottle to her lips. Empty! The stress of the day had made her abandon her usual, careful routine and she hadn't brewed her normal potion. A jolt of apprehension hit her, she would sleep properly for the first time in months, there would be no avoiding the crushing exhaustion, no way of escaping the tortured areas of her soul. Angrily she threw the bottle to the floor, hearing the satisfying sound of glass breaking on the stone flagstones. She dropped her head onto the mahogany dressing table, tears sliding silently down her alabaster cheeks, sobs shaking her slender form. Why did it have to be tonight? Why would she be forced to walk through the darkest recesses of her mind again and face her demons, the one night that she would have given anything to be at peace?

At first she had welcomed the idea of an OfWitch inspection, thinking that it would be the perfect chance to reinforce discipline and remind girls and fellow members of staff of the high standards required of them. It would make a pleasant change to see some order and method in Amelia Cackle's haphazard filing cabinet, Davina Bat not wondering around in her dream world, carrying flowers in vases wearing personalised, hand-knitted cardigans, even Imogen Drill dressing appropriately, not in one of those revealing, mid-rift bearing tops. Constance mentally began to formulate a strict plan of action to ensure the school maintained its Guild Approved Status. Then, it was as if time halved in speed as those three fateful words escaped Amelia's lips, "Mistress Hecketty Broomhead". She felt the room spin, her breath caught in her throat, her knees buckled, forcing her into the nearest chair. A wave of suppressed emotion and fear hit her, overwhelming her momentarily. Her worst nightmare was starting again. The concerned faces of her fellow members of staff swam, distorted, in front of her vision.

_**Meanwhile, elsewhere in the castle at that time, Mildred Hubble had started questioning her own sanity..**_

That picture could not have just moved. Mildred had been left in detention, writing 500 lines of "In the future I will endeavour not use my broomstick as a demolition tool" after crashing into the dustbins in the courtyard for the third time in the last fortnight. Banana-broom was now in a more sorry state than ever. She frowned and chewed on her bottom lip absent-mindedly. She had long since given up on the lines, especially after her supervising teacher, Miss Bat, had seen a rare variety of wild plant that had decided to grow in the courtyard and excitedly gone to make friends with her new arrival. She started to doodle on her paper. Her thoughts were running back to the other week when she had successfully managed to persuade Chief Wizard Helibore to reverse the spell that had been placed on Mr Rowan-Webbe who had been left to his fate in the school pond for the past forty years. She had smiled as she thought of the eccentric old wizard that she had befriended and sketched a little frog on the corner of the paper, allowing her daydream to continue. The next thing she saw made her drop her pencil in shock. The frog had undeniably just hopped from one side of the page to the other. Mildred pushed her stool away from the bench in utter disbelief. What had just happened? It must have been a trick of the light surely? She edged closer, and saw the little frog springing around the sheet of paper. Curious, she picked up the pencil in her trembling hand and quickly sketched a little lily pad and pond underneath the frog. She focused on the paper, willing the frog to react again to prove that she wasn't losing her mind. There was an audible splash and Mildred gasped as real droplets of water rained onto the desk. There was a little green frog now surveying her cautiously from a miniature lily pond on the bench. Mildred's heart started beating uncontrollably, blood pounded in her ears- had she just bought the picture to life?

By this time Constance was now striding down the corridor away from the staffroom, her breaths coming in short, panicky gasps. Her bemused colleagues were perusing her; desperate to know exactly what about their unknown visitor had visibly terrified the usually imperturbable deputy head. "Who is she, Constance?" demanded Imogen, her green eyes reflecting the concern she felt. She knew that this woman had to be something else to provoke this reaction in the normally composed and controlled potions mistress. Constance spun around and addressed her colleagues in a faint, trembling voice, "Mistress Broomhead was my personal tutor at Witch Training College, she taught me practically everything I know." The ashen-faced witch lent against the wall for support, "And she is by far the most demanding, relentless witch I have ever come across".

"We don't stand a chance!" shrieked Davina hysterically, attempting to escape to the comforting environment of her cupboard in the staffroom.

Imogen said nothing, but knew from looking at the slumped form of Constance that trouble was coming. Big trouble. It took a highly stressful situation for Constance to abandon her perfect posture.

"Now, let's be sensible about this, ladies" Amelia said in an unusually decisive tone, "There must be something we can do".

But by now, Constance was no longer listening. There was always an ulterior motive for everything with Mistress Broomhead. She knew it was not just the academy that was being targeted. After fifteen years of hiding, she had been found. Fear was coursing through her. Nobody had ever escaped from Hecketty Broomhead and lived.

**To be continued...**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2:**

**Authors Note:**

**This chapter is a reflective one, looking back at how Hecketty and Constance first meet, and the tragic consequences that come about as a result of that. I have always thought of Hecketty as a dark, obsessive character and wanted to show how she coloured Constance's life even before Witch Training College and give a reason as to why she became an inspector. Reviews always appreciated **

Hecketty Broomhead was not stupid. She knew that Constance was alive-she could feel her magical pulse beating, knew that although broken, she was not dead. She deduced that the only way that Constance could have possibly survived would be if she had been taken in by an establishment. Probably teaching rather than research. She had felt the warm glow of happiness that radiated from her when she was imparting knowledge, not only that, but the ancient magic contained in the very walls of all magical establishments was enough to draw fugitives towards them like a magnet. Constance was there, somewhere.

It had been the easiest thing in the world to obtain the position at OfWitch, Milicent Crow had been due to retire for years. She presented herself as the perfect replacement- impeccable personal background, high standards and the best results in the country at her Witch Training College. The ideal candidate. She now had a valid reason to visit every magical education site in the country to hunt her prey down. Her pencil hovered over the details of the next school on the list. Cackle's Academy. How appropriate would it be if Constance were to be hiding there..

She remembered her first encounter with Constance well. She had decided to go to a country village that was renowned for being the growing site of an extremely potent and rare herb that she intended to gather for her student's Advanced Potions Finals. She had walked for what seemed like hours down the narrow country lane. The midsummer sunshine was filtering through between the gaps in the leaves, casting patterns on the ground in front of her. She glanced at her watch, nearly time; the field couldn't be much further. The winding lane took her past a little country cottage where a child was playing on the lawn. Even though the girl was obviously very young, she was tall for her age with the palest of white skin, a healthy pink glow about her cheeks and beautiful long, dark hair that hung down to her waist. Her hazel eyes were full of life and she was dressed in a pretty floral summer dress that was covered in little rosebuds. She could tell immediately from the magical traces around her that the girl was a witch. What she saw next made her stop dead in her tracks. Knowing that young witches are aware of their powers, but usually can't do much more than shoot sparks from their fingers without propter tutoring; her eyes widened in absolute astonishment and disbelief as the little girl folded her arms and disappeared, reappearing on the rope swing that was attached to the apple tree across the lawn. The girl had transported. A feat was usually only achievable by only the most advanced of witches. She heard the little girl squeal with delight, a brilliant smile lighting up her face as she managed to conjure a confetti of flower petals that rained down upon her, blissfully unaware that she was being watched. She lifted her head and their eyes met for the first time. Constance gulped, remembering what her mother and father had told her about not demonstrating her magic in public. Magic and mortals did not mix. She stopped swinging and ran indoors, throwing a nervous look over her shoulder at the stranger dressed in the long black robes that was gazing intently over the white picket fence. Potion ingredients forgotten, Hecketty stared after the disappearing figure of the child. She had to have her. A witch with that ability, a mere child, she corrected herself, to join her college, be one of her chosen few where she stole and controlled their unique powers and abilities, leaving them as empty, tortured shells. The girl was obviously another that evidently carried the Fairweather gene, the gene found in only the most powerful of witches that controlled their abilities.

Constance peered out of her window and gasped in shock. The chilling woman in black was now marching up the path to the front door. She bit her lip worriedly, her parents would not be happy to hear that someone had seen her performing magic. She crept out of her room and hid in the murky shadows at the top of the stairs, watching her mother let the stranger into the house.

"Good afternoon, may I help you?" Elizabeth Hardbroom's gentle voice echoed through the hall.

"My name is Mistress Hecketty Broomhead, I am the headmistress of the prestigious Witch Training College, I wish to talk to you about your daughter?" Hecketty's clipped tones announced.

"Constance?"

"I believe that she has enormous potential and would benefit from a place at my establishment; may I come in and discuss this further with you?"

At this point her father walked into the hall. William Hardbroom was a tall imposing figure, one of the most respected figures in the magical academia, but those who knew him knew that he had a heart of gold and doted on his wife and child.

"I'm sorry, Mistress Broomhead, but Constance's name has been on the waiting list for Cackle's Academy since it was announced that a school would be opening there. She starts when it opens in September, so attending your academy would be completely out of the question. "

"But Mr Hardboom, I must insist—"

"I don't wish to discuss this any further, please leave us now!"

With that he side-stepped his wife and closed the door in Broomhead's face.

"That woman is trouble Elizabeth, don't you ever let her in!" he stressed, "She knows exactly what Connie is—"

"We don't know for sure William", Elizabeth whispered.

"We leave tomorrow", William hissed urgently, "Connie must never fall into the clutches of that woman!"

Constance sat shaking at the top of the stairs. She had never seen her parents more worried. What was it about her that woman wanted?

William called, "Connie? Can you come down please?"

She ran and accepted a tight hug from her parents, breathing in the musky perfume worn by her mother, feeling the warm caress of her father's hands on her head, fixing that memory in her mind for eternity.

That was the last ever moment she shared with them.

That night, the woodland cottage was gutted by a fire.

William and Elizabeth lay paralysed in their bed, pinned down by a magical curse as the flames consumed their bodies; their final act had been to reach out to hold each others hands as the pain moved up their torsos. Tears dried on their cheeks as they knew that they had failed to protect their daughter. Even their death was not a high enough price to spare her from what was to come.

Constance woke, and frantically tried to materialise in her parent's room. She could smell smoke, taste the aroma of burning wood in her mouth and knew that she had to reach them at all costs. It was at that moment that a woman materialised beside her. Mistress Hecketty Broomhead.

"Quickly girl, MOVE!"

She felt talon-like fingers dig into her arm, piercing the skin and leaving bloody traces upon her white nightdress in their vice-like grip. The room dissolved and they rematerialised on the same lawn where she had been playing so care freely earlier in the day.

Hecketty straightened up and fired a final curse upon the cottage, which exploded in a fireball, obliterating anything inside. A sadistic smile crossed her face. The girl was hers.

Tears stung Constance's eyes as she realised what had happened. Her beloved parents, her only family, murdered in cold blood by this woman. She choked on raw emotion, feeling like a knife had been plunged into her very soul as she collapsed in a grief-stricken heap to the floor, screaming in her anguish.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

**Authors Note: I hope the timescale in this isn't too confusing! This next section is set back in the present day, moving on from the first scene of the story. Thank you so much for the PMs and reviews that people have been so kind to leave me- it really does mean a lot to know that people appreciate what you are doing! Reviews always welcome...**

The clock in the bell tower was striking midnight at Cackles and Mildred Hubble was still wide awake in her room. Her mind was teeming with conflicting thoughts and emotions. Fear and trepidation over the forthcoming inspection, for if any catastrophes were to unfold they would usually be connected to her actions, as well as excitement tinged with confusion over her new found abilities. In a bid to try and prove that she had simply not allowed her creative imagination to run riot, she had withdrawn several large dusty volumes from the library and had spent most of the evening combing through them methodically, straining her eyes from attempting to read in the flickering candlelight, periodically sneezing from the copious amount of dust that had been thrown up into the air, to try and find the slightest mention of the ability to bring illustrations to life in any of the ancient, mouldy tomes.

Maud and Enid were worried. Millie had been avoiding them all day, and they knew from experience that she never went this quiet unless there was something playing on her mind. Enid had crept to Maud's room after lights-out and the two young witches were discussing the sudden change in their friend's behaviour.

"She was fine before her detention" said Maud thoughtfully, "who was on duty then, was it Miss Bat?"

"Well, you know Miss Bat" quipped Enid sarcastically, "Millie has probably gone into advanced shock after being subjected to two hours continuous Mongolian chanting"...

It was common knowledge that the life expectancy of the timbers in the roof of the castle had been reduced by at least a decade following the destructive arrival of Mongolian chant upon the chanting syllabus.

Maud smiled, even in times of worry Enid still had a reassuringly acerbic comment to hand.

Mildred sighed in exasperation. Six hours solid reading and squinting at the antiquated scripts and not a single mention of it! She began to even consider that she had simply imagined the entire sequences of events; after all, if she had gone to someone like HB she was sure her form mistress would have merely rolled her eyes and given her 500 lines of "I will not allow my overactive imagination to cloud my judgment". She closed Magical Myths and Legends with a dusty thud. An idea came to her-why hadn't she thought of her friends before? Maud would understand. She slipped out of bed, silently praying that Miss Hardbroom wasn't on dormitory duty that night, and tiptoed along the corridor to Maud's room. What she heard next almost caused her to drop her candle in fright.

A blood-curdling scream emitted from the room that she had just passed. She stared at the name on the door in disbelief. "Miss C. Hardbroom". Another scream that chilled her to her bones and Mildred gingerly pushed the door open. Nothing could have prepared her for the sight that met her eyes. The deputy head was writhing and thrashing on her bed, her wild eyes glazed and wide open. Locked inside a living nightmare.

"Please spare me!" Mildred heard her whimper in terror, "NO!-", Constance's entire body bucked up off the bed at this point. Mildred stood transfixed in fright at the sight of her usually impeccably controlled, almost emotionless class tutor in the grips of one of the most horrific nightmares that she had ever see. She was almost more afraid of how her teacher looked, her usually pristine locks of dark hair were plastered to her head in matted tangles, cold, sweaty traces running down her skin, wild eyes that seemed twice their normal size standing out from the waxy, pallid skin that surrounded them. Her breaths were coming in ragged, shallow gasps from her constricted throat, her willowy form shaking in immeasurable horror. It was at this point mobility returned to Mildred's legs, she dashed into the room and pushed Constance back onto the bed by her shoulders, calling her name frantically until the shaking subsided and Constance's breathing returned to a more regular rate.

She blinked away the tears that had formed in her eyes and looked up in utter surprise at her worst pupil, Mildred Hubble.

"Mildred?" she enquired weakly.

"P-please Miss," stammered Mildred, "I heard somebody screaming and -" she broke off, looking fearfully at Miss Hardbroom, expecting the typical angry interrogation, fuelled by the indignity of being seen at her most vulnerable by one of her students. Instead, to her bewilderment Miss Hardbroom let out a stifled sob and looked away. Allowing her natural concern to override her usual reservations, Mildred perched on the edge of the bed and took one of Constance's delicate bony hands in her own, gently stroking it in a bid to provide some reassurance to her form mistress.

Constance smiled faintly, whatever she thought of the girl's academic abilities; there was certainly no denying that Mildred had her heart in the right place.

She daren't close her eyes again, for she knew that Hecketty Broomhead would be waiting for her, ready to resume where she left off.

After she had collected her composure a bit, she raised her eyes to her pupil and enquired gently, "And what where you doing out of bed at half-past midnight Mildred?"

"Umm, I was thirsty Miss; I was going to the kitchens for a glass of water-"

"Mildred Hubble, I may be extremely grateful to you for your actions this evening, but I do know when I am being lied to. The truth, if you please," a slight note of impatience coloured her voice.

Mildred gulped. This was going to sound even more far-fetched than her original excuse.

"Well?"

"I was going to see Maud, Miss. I wanted her advice on something that happened to me in detention earlier"

"And what was that exactly?"

Mildred was surprised to hear a note of concern in Miss Hardbroom's voice

"Well, I think,-I don't even know if this is technically possible, I think-" She took a steadying breath, "I think, Miss Hardbroom that I brought one of my drawings to life, it really came off the page!"..

Mildred cast an uncertain look at Constance, who hadn't reacted in the incredulous way in which Mildred had expected. Constance knew instinctively that she was being told the truth, regardless of how absurd she knew the girl thought it sounded. She frantically searched her mind, but drew a resounding blank when it came to prior instances of this ability.

She had to see this power to attempt to understand it.

"Mildred, you will find a pencil and some writing paper in my desk, I know that it is late, but could you please try to demonstrate what happened to you?"

Mildred nodded and walked to the dressing table, avoiding the shards of glass from the empty bottle of Wide Awake Potion that glinted in the candlelight. She picked a pencil and some headed notepaper emblazoned with the school crest. She looked around the darkened room for inspiration and saw Morgana snoozing at the foot of the bed and began to draw. She focused on her rough sketch, trying to recreate the feelings and emotions that she had experienced in the potions lab that afternoon. Morgana opened one yellow eye and yowled in surprise at the feline intruder, her doppelganger that was now stalking around the room. Mildred let out a gasp of relief. She hadn't imagined it.

Constance's eyes widened in amazement- who would have thought that girl could possess such a talent? She wondered in delight about the display in front of her.

Then a far more sinister thought occurred to her.


	4. Chapter 4

**Authors Note: This chapter is told from Amelia's point of view, describing how Constance came to Cackles. Warning: does contain some elements that may be unsuitable for younger readers. Reviews always welcome, and a huge thank you to everyone who has left comments and reviews already!**

Chapter 4:

Amelia Cackle had never been an early riser. Except for this morning. She blinked short-sightedly in surprise at her alarm clock- only half past two? She lay there; trying to summon the urge to fall back into unconsciousness, but soon gave up with a frustrated click of her tongue. Her nerves were red-raw at the prospect of the inspection- after all; the potential threat of the removal of GAS for the school was a serious problem.

She eased herself into a more comfortable sitting position, feeling the slight twinge of arthritis in her joints as she moved for the first time after waking. She thanked her lucky stars for the Anti-Arthritic spell that she quickly muttered under her breath. That spell had created by particularly enterprising third-year, developed for her end of year assignment several years ago, a girl who was now one of the senior surgeons in one of the country's foremost medical establishments. It was amazing, she thought, what could be achieved with a little perseverance and dedication.

Her mind returned to the inspection, and to their mystery inspector. She had known Millicent Crow for years, a short, plump witch with wispy, white hair, twinkling, dark eyes and a real penchant for cream cakes (an annual visit to Cosies' Tearooms that was paid for by the school and it was no wonder that Cackle's had passed the last fourteen inspections without any hiccoughs), and had been sad to hear of her retirement. Who exactly was this Mistress Broomhead who seemed to have such a hold over Constance? She knew that Constance prided herself on her ability to exercise "confidence and control" over everything that she did, so to see her reduced to a trembling wreck at the mention of a name deeply concerned the kindly headmistress.

Amelia sighed-she had felt like mother to them all at some point, pupils and staff alike. If only Constance wasn't so guarded about her emotions, had learnt to voice her feelings instead of hiding them behind the well-practised, strict, frigid facade that she portrayed so well. It was rare that the mask slipped to reveal the tortured soul that Amelia knew hid behind it. Unreachable, unreadable, and that seemed to be the way that it would always be. She remembered the day all too well that Constance that had arrived with them at the Academy, fifteen years ago...

**The end of Sir Walter's Wet Week. A massive thunderstorm was brewing in the sky, the air heavy with humidity.**

Amelia was walking back towards the castle after treating herself with a visit to Mrs Cosies' tearooms. Feeling slightly uncomfortable after the large quantities of rich strawberry cheesecake that she had consumed, she stopped to catch her breath and alleviate the pain from the stitch that was throbbing agonizingly in her side. Fat droplets of rain began to fall from the sky, striking the ground like bullets.

"Drat"..

She muttered a quick spell and a large, red-striped golfing umbrella fell into her outstretched hands. She was not in the best of moods. Following the death of the last potions mistress at the school, Mistress Baneberry, who had stubbornly refused to retire (and actually died at her post, whilst teaching Class 2), a string of incompetent young replacements had been trialled. The most disastrous of these appointments was the most recent, a young, nervous-looking witch, recently graduated from Weirdsister called Rosemary Caladium, who with her lop-sided pigtails could easily have been mistaken for one of the pupils. She had lasted precisely seven minutes and twenty nine seconds once confronted with the mischievous third year potion class, before running away from the castle in floods of tears, swearing never to set foot in the place again.

Amelia sighed wearily, the walk back to the castle always seemed so much more of a challenge- climbing up the side of a mountain when one was rather too full of one's favourite confectionary was not an easy task. She started the long trudge up the woodland path, trying not to slip on the fallen leaves that had turned the pathway into a greasy helter-skelter. Panting, she stopped and leant against a tree in the clearing for support. The dark shadows of the forest were illuminated by a massive fork of lightening that carved across the inky sky. A dark shape caught her attention and she let out an involuntary cry of surprise.

The body of a young woman was lying motionless on the soaking forest floor.

Amelia ran over to her quickly and knelt by her side. She had very limited knowledge of first-aid but knew to check for a pulse. She rolled back the long sleeve that was covering the limp arm and gently felt around the wrist. She was repulsed at first by the feel of the emaciated flesh underneath her hand. So cold, colder than ice, the skin stretched impossibly tight, a translucent layer over the sharp bones. At first she had feared the worst, but then, wait! A faint, irregular flutter of a pulse, the slightest rise and fall of her chest! She was alive... but what a shocking state she was in. The dark hood had fallen away from the young stranger's face and Amelia felt tears of pity well up in her eyes; a bruised and beaten face had been exposed, covered with the same impossibly taut, pallid skin, dark hollows under her cheeks, the striking contrast emphasised by the mane of lifeless, ebony hair that framed her face. A dark red trickle of blood had crept from the side of her mouth down the side of her jaw. A myriad of scars and open wounds covered the poor woman's entire body. She had been cursed and beaten to within an inch of her life, not a single miniscule area had been left untouched, or unscarred by her horrific injuries.

Barely alive, but still fighting to survive.

Amelia quickly conjured a blanket out of thin air and placed it protectively over the young woman. Within moments the white blanket was soaked in a dark red fluid. . Blood? Amelia lifted the blanket and soaked cloak that were covering the stranger. She retched at the sight, tasting bitter bile in her mouth, her vision blurring- she never had been good with blood. The woman's broken ribs had punctured the skin and she was losing blood at an alarming rate. The sickening, metallic smell of blood rose into the air. Drawing in a steadying breath, Amelia placed her casting fingers over the open wound, quickly casting a Clotting spell, dredged from her limited Medic-Witch training. The edges of the wound hissed and sealed. She would have to act quickly; the spell did not have a particularly long-lasting effect. A few hurried enchantments later and the woman was lying on a stretcher that floated by her side.

She climbed shakily to her feet. She stretched her arms up into the night, sending forth the magical summons to her fellow members of staff, pleading for their immediate assistance.

Davina Bat and Frances Gimlet descended gracefully from the turbulent sky on their broomsticks, landing in the secluded glade.

"Good heavens Amelia- what on earth happened?" quavered a shocked Davina, looking down in horror at the bloodstains that covered Amelia's hands.

Frances wasted no time in exchanging pleasantries, she was already analysing the state of the casualty. As the only medically trained witch on the school premises she knew that she would have to act swiftly. She ran over to the stretcher and started circling her hands over the spectre-like figure that was floating eerily in the half-light, casting highly complex healing spells. Blue flashes of magic burst from her hands, fusing broken bones together and knitting together the copious gashes in the ivory skin.

"I don't know how much longer we have Amelia", she shouted urgently, raising her voice over the thunderstorm that was now raging overhead, "She's lost so much blood! We need to get her back to the castle where I can treat her!"

For once Davina had not lost her head in a crisis. She seized the two abandoned broomsticks, instructed them to hover, and cast a binding spell between the two.

"Brilliant, Davina!" bellowed Amelia, a glimmer of hope now appearing in her eyes, the wind whipping through her greying hair. There would be time. There would be no death at Cackles tonight.

Frances was already seated on her broom, guiding the stretcher to rest between the two patiently hovering brooms.

"I'll see you up at the castle Miss Cackle- up and away!"

Miss Cackle looked up to see the dark shadow of her fellow member of staff disappearing above the trees, into the raging storm. The life of that young witch was now dependant on Frances.

**A few days later..**

The early morning sunlight was pouring into the staff bedrooms that were housed in the East Wing of the castle.

Amelia observed the little particles of dust that were dancing beautifully in the light that swept across her face, warming her gently and illuminating the plush decor of her own private room.

It had been a close thing.

Amelia had maintained a constant vigil at the bedside of the mysterious woman. Although she had never been blessed with children, her strong maternal instincts made her the first person that people turned to in times of trouble, and she felt a deep-seated need to protect her.

It struck her that she was now able to see past the injuries, to observe the natural beauty of the woman in front of her. Pale, milk-white skin, still covered in a spider-web of cuts and scars, long, full eyelashes that framed her almond-shaped eyes, and that mass of thick, dark hair that now fell loosely over her narrow shoulders. Where had she come from? Who was she? Who had done this to her? A multitude of questions formed in Amelia's mind, but she quickly silenced them-there would be time for enquiries later. The woman's eyelids had fluttered.

Relief washed over Amelia as the woman opened her eyes for the first time, gazing around in wonder at the sight of the room around her.

Their eyes met, blue on hazel, and Amelia offered a comforting smile, gently enquiring what the name of the young woman was.

"My name, is Constance" breathed the witch, trying to summon the strength to lift her frail arm to touch Amelia on the hand, "y-you saved me", she gasped, tears sliding silently down her hollowed cheeks as she looked up at her saviour. Finally, her ordeal was over.


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note: Thank you to all those who have reviewed or sent me PM's- keep them coming! WARNING- contains some violence, not suitable for younger readers.**

Chapter 5:

Constance Hardbroom stood watching the dawn break over the misty turrets of Cackle's Academy, the grey edged clouds gradually pulling apart to reveal the blazing red sky, taking the final remnants of the night with them. It was her favourite time of day, a time when nothing appeared to be stirring, and the world was at peace with itself before the turbulence of the next hectic day began. She inhaled a deep lungful of the fresh, dew-laced air that poured into her room from the open window. Today was a day when she needed every ounce of composure that she could muster.

She cast a look into the corner of the room where Mildred Hubble was sleeping peacefully in the armchair underneath the thick woollen rug, her hair hanging loose from its usual untidy plaits was spread over her face and a few fine tendrils of hair were rising and falling gently in time with her breathing. Mildred had insisted on staying with her after witnessing the terrible nightmare that she had experienced. After protesting mildly, she realised that surprisingly she had found the girl's presence to be rather reassuring and had relented.

Oh the nightmares. Being forced to confront those events after suppressing their existence for so long seemed like an impossible, unending task, especially with no safety net in the Wide Awake Potion to come to her rescue. She shuddered and clutched onto the wooden window frame as the suppressed images rushed back into her head like a floodgate being opened..

A little child dressed in purple pyjamas, woke screaming frantically for her mother in the damp, windowless cell of a room. She lay in the darkness, her chest heaving; dreading the punishment she knew awaited her.

"Constance Hardbroom!", the icy tones of Mistress Broomhead announced her arrival in the room.

Constance shivered in fright, trying to mentally prepare herself for her impending punishment.

"I brought you to my college to work and train to become a witch, not to allow your emotions to rule your head!"

Constance braced herself as she received a stinging slap across her face that knocked her sideways into the stone wall. She felt Hecketty's talon-like fingers wind themselves into her long hair, pulling her off her narrow iron bed and dragging her along the icy flagstones of the floor. Her scalp was on fire, handfuls of hair being violently ripped out from the roots before she heard the familiar creak of the bathroom door. She was thrown down forcefully against the marble floor. Winded, she lay there gasping for her breath, and then an excruciating pain erupted in her outstretched hand. Hecketty had raised her heeled boot and bought it down on her hand with calculated force. She shrieked in agony as she felt the delicate bones break with a sickening crack. Her vision was tunnelled through pain but she still heard the sound of water running into the old claw-footed bath. She was grabbed by the scruff of her neck and inhaled sharply as her face hit the freezing water. Water had been taken into her lungs and she started choking and spluttering, frantically clawing at the strong hands that were submerging her head, trying to break their grip. She was running out of air, her lungs aching, her muscles cramping as they screamed for oxygen. Just as she was about to pass out, she was pulled up by her soaking hair, desperately gulping in vital air.

"Look at you", Hecketty mocked, she leant down and hissed in her face, "A pathetic sight if ever I saw one!", she felt a final sharp kick in her stomach before Mistress Broomhead walked away, leaving her in a shivering heap on the stone floor, doubled up in pain, nursing her crushed hand.

She was no longer Connie, the sweet, innocent and carefree little girl who had played so happily in the garden, she had died long ago. She was Constance now, a raw, bleeding soul, denied love and affection, doomed to exist in this dark hell for eternity.

That experience was barely the tip of the iceberg, she reminisced painfully.

Constance pulled herself out of her daydream, now was not the time to be dwelling on her past. She flinched inwardly at the thought of coming face to face with her tutor again after all these years. Cackles had been her home, her shelter for 15 years. Never venturing far away. Never leaving the side of her protector, Amelia Cackle, never going to family in the holidays, quite simply because there was nobody to go to. And now, ironically, it was her place of safety that had led her nemesis directly to her.

Mildred had started to stir, blearily surveying the room from eyes that were still half-shut.

"Come on Mildred, time to get up, you need to go and dress in time for breakfast", Constance felt the unfamiliar words fall awkwardly from her mouth. She normally woke the girls up by putting the fear of God into them, threatening detentions and multiple punishments, and then leaving them to rush around their rooms, desperately trying to find a shirt that wasn't creased beyond decency to wear for assembly. She did care deeply about her girls but thought it improper to demonstrate this too often. She was sure that any respect that they had for her or the Academy would be lost for good if she displayed too much fondness or lenience, like Amelia had the unfortunate habit of allowing herself to do.

Mildred managed a sleepy smile as she walked out of the room. Constance stared after her, cursing inwardly for not having the courage to tell the girl her suspicions. She had to know. She folded her arms, and as she had done many times before, dematerialised, reappearing outside Mildred's room.

The tall girl came wondering around the corner to be confronted by the sight of the deputy headmistress outside her room. Wondering what she could have possibly done wrong in the space of walking along two corridors, Mildred looked quizzically at Miss Hardbroom. Constance walked up to her and muttered briefly in passing,

"Mildred, whatever you do, do not go to the assembly this morning. Eat your breakfast and make an excuse. I will see to it that nobody disturbs you, it is better, for everybody's sake that you stay in your room today, just pretend that you don't exist-"

"But Miss, I do exist," interrupted a confused Mildred.

Miss Hardbroom stepped closer and whispered urgently in her ear, "Please do not argue Mildred, there is something very important that I have to explain to you later, I will come and find you when I can get away without being missed". And with that comment she walked away without a backward glance, her heeled boots rapping her usual brisk staccato rhythm on the ancient wooden boards, the keys on the chain around her waist jangling a musical accompaniment.

Mildred faced an interrogation at breakfast. Maud and Enid had gone to her room last night to discover that she wasn't there. She fended them off as best she could, but thought secretly that they would have been more inclined to disbelieve her if she told them the truth- that she had spent the night in her form mistresses room after she had heard her, the invincible HB, having a nightmare. She mumbled something incoherent about having a headache and slipped away quietly, observed only by her increasingly bemused friends and Miss Hardbroom who was on duty.

Imogen Drill looked out of the window in the staff room, absent-mindedly running her fingers through her short, cropped blonde hair, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in the borrowed black robes that she had been advised to wear by Amelia. She was just as apprehensive, in fact, more so than the other members of staff. Being the only non-witch on the teaching staff left her feeling vulnerable in the presence of magical strangers, the odd-one-out, the one under constant scrutiny for her behaviour and ability to cope in the magical world. Not only that, but the inspector that was coming evidently scared the life out of Constance, and she knew that normally nothing phased the unflappable deputy head.

She jumped as she saw a figure dressed from head to toe in black materialize from thin air as Constance usually did, outside the main entrance. The tall, stern looking witch reminded her of a vulture with her full length jet-black cape that emphasised her high shoulders and scraggy neck. Waiting to swoop on the carcass of the school, she mused. It had begun.

"She's here," she announced to the supposedly empty room. A swish of material and a muted thud from the stationary cupboard in the corner told her that Davina had just fainted in fear. She rolled her eyes and went to revive the nervous chanting teacher.

The heavy main door swung open as she approached, and Hecketty Broomhead walked crisply into the hallway, consulting her ornate silver wristwatch and nodded in approval. Eight o'clock precisely. This was the place. She smiled a malevolent grimace that pulled her thin lips up, baring her needle-sharp teeth. She could taste the fear that hung like a dense fog in the air. After searching for so long, she could definitely detect the presence of a Fairweather gene holder, a witch of extraordinary power resided here. But wait? Two magical signatures? It couldn't be true? She let out a low, menacing, bark of laughter at her good fortune-her next protégé was lurking inside this very castle, as well as the fugitive that she had been pursuing for a decade and a half. The wait was over-she had finally found her. Cornered at last. Constance Hardbroom must now pay the penalty for her actions.


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors Note: Hecketty Broomhead has arrived! *gulps* Thank you once again to all the lovely people who have left such positive and encouraging messages and reviews- keep them coming!**

Chapter 6

Amelia Cackle stood fidgeting nervously as the girls filed slowly into the Great Hall, her hands plucking at the stray threads attached to the cuffs of her grey cardigan. She took a deep, calming breath, and then led her fellow members of staff onto the raised platform in the hall. Inspection or no inspection, the daily assembly still had to go ahead.

"Good morning girls!", she said in a cheery voice whose confidence attempted to mask her own underlying feelings of anxiety, "I'm sure that I do not have to remind you that there is an OfWitch inspection taking place today, so please be on your best behaviour and show the utmost courtesy to our visitor at all times" She shot a sideways look at Griselda Blackwood and Fenella Feverfew at this point. The two third year girls were notorious for their extensive repertoire of tricks, unusual spells and potions and the chaos that usually followed them around the school, usually to the cost of various members of staff. "Cackle's has always strived to achieve perfection, and I want you to convey that in everything that you attempt today".

Her kindly eyes roved over the crowd of witches- No Mildred Hubble? No, the tall, slim girl with the long, untidy plaits was definitely nowhere to be seen. Perhaps that was for the best given the ferocious reputation that Mistress Broomhead seemed to have earned herself. Mildred seemed to attract trouble like wasps to a picnic. Her stomach growled hungrily, reminding her that she had missed breakfast for the first time in decades. Why oh why, did she have to think of a food analogy at the most inappropriate of moments!

"Now, let us start as we mean to go on, by singing a rousing rendition of our school song- Onwards, Ever Striving Onwards, thank you Miss Bat,"

The pupils climbed wearily to their feet and waited for Miss Bat's flamboyant improvised introduction to finish before launching into the optimistic dirge that was the school song.

Outside in the hallway Hecketty Broomhead smiled nastily to herself. She'd make an entrance that they wouldn't forget. She waited until half the song had been sung before materialising from thin air behind the members of staff that were standing on the crowded platform. They carried on singing, blissfully unaware of the presence that was lurking ominously behind them. Except Constance. She felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up, an icy sweat breaking out all over her body. Her heart started beating painfully fast, adrenaline coursing through her veins. She daren't look around.

Hecketty stared at the back of the tall, slender woman clad in the full length, figure-hugging black dress, her eyes boring into her very soul. It gave her some twisted satisfaction to see her narrow shoulders shaking in fear. Even fifteen years on, she still obviously struck terror into the heart of her ex-pupil. It would be so easy to strike her down now- she would be dead before she hit the floor. Her casting fingers twitched impatiently, almost longingly, little red sparks shooting angrily from the tips of her fingers. No, it would be far too easy this way, she corrected herself mentally. She wanted her to suffer, and suffer excruciatingly, for what she had done, to beg for death to end her overriding misery.

She cleared her throat, "Good morning, Miss Cackle, good morning school!"

Miss Cackle nearly jumped out of her skin on hearing the clipped, icy tones that radiated around the room. Clutching her chest where her heart was fluttering uncontrollably, she turned to identify the owner of the voice. This must be Mistress Broomhead.

A hushed silence fell over the room. Except for Davina Bat who was still singing lustily at the top of her voice, pounding out the tune on the decrepit, dusty harmonium. She let out a squeal of surprise as Hecketty casually flicked a spell over her shoulder that caused Davina's fingers to fuse together, rendering her unable to continue. Imogen quickly went and put a comforting arm around Davina's shoulders, reminding her gently not to break down and show weakness in front of the inspector.

Hecketty Broomhead swept to the centre of the platform, brushing Amelia aside and throwing a furious glance at Imogen. Non-witch indeed! A mere mortal permitted to teach inside these ancient, hallowed walls! She would be the first to go, she resolved.

"I said **Good Morning **girls!" her voice echoed around the hall, "is this the contempt that you treat your staff with? STAND UP!" her fingers twitched and all the pupils that had dared to settle back down again shot out of their chairs to their feet in one brisk, perfectly synchronised movement. She paced menacingly along the platform, intently surveying the young witches in front of her.

"My name is Mistress Broomhead. I am a high-ranking OfWitch inspector, founder of one of the most successful magical educational establishments in the country and you **will **treat me with respect" she hissed furiously.

"Yes Mistress Broomhead", murmured a few of the shell-shocked pupils.

A suppressed laugh emitted from the front row. Hecketty wheeled around and stared in rage at the two girls that were wearing canary-yellow sashes who were standing in front of her. Despite their innocent expressions she was sure that she had not been mistaken, the blonde-haired girl had been mimicking her slow, deliberate pacing, her chestnut-haired friend smirking at the blatantly subversive actions of her friend.

Constance trembled internally. She knew exactly what was about to happen. "Why did those two always have to create trouble?" she fretted quietly to herself.

"You girls," barked Hecketty, her clawed fingers pointing directly at Fenella and Griselda, "come here at once!"

The two girls exchanged a wary glance and traipsed up to the platform.

She leant forward and whispered threateningly to them, "You will soon learn young ladies that I do not take kindly to disrespectful behaviour- now please return to your seats in an orderly manner". She touched them both lightly on the arm as they turned to go back to their seats. They felt a sudden, excruciatingly-sharp bolt of pain rush up their arms. They would have screamed if their mouths hadn't been sealed shut. All they could do was look at each other helplessly with tear-filled eyes.

Hecketty straightened up and addressed the whole room, continuing her speech.

"I am here to assess whether the high standards of spells, potions and chanting that are stressed by the Witches Guild are being met. Many witches nowadays leave school with insufficient knowledge of even elementary magic, unable to brew potions, fly safely on a broomstick or cast the simplest of enchantments"

She paused for effect.

"Failure to meet these standards will lead to severe measures being taken".

She then turned to Amelia. "A moment of your time, Headmistress?"

"Yes, of course Mistress Br-". Miss Cackle was cut off by Hecketty striding off down the length of the Great Hall. Amelia broke into a run to keep up with her brisk strides, wheezing slightly as she did whenever any exercise more strenuous than a sedate amble was called for.

Constance collapsed exhaustedly into one of the uncomfortable wooden chairs; her limbs completely devoid of strength, no longer able to support her almost non-existent weight. The tension of the last five minutes had been unbearable. She had always felt completely powerless against Mistress Broomhead. The numerous faded scars that covered her body had prickled with a fiery heat, burning as if they were freshly reopened the very second that she detected that all-too familiar presence inside the castle. She should easily have been able to deflect the curse that had been used on Fenella and Griselda, but her shaking hands could not project the counter-spell fast enough. The mere thought of her girls being targeted in the same way that she had left her chilled to the core.

She suddenly realised that her unexpected reaction to the situation was causing ripples of conversation to spread around the room. Time to don the mask again. She regained her composure.

"Quiet!", her usual penetrating tones rang through the hall. Silence, once again, reigned supreme.

Amelia Cackle felt that this was turning more into an interrogation than an interview. She sat on the other side of the desk in her office, no longer the one in charge. Mistress Broomhead had been relentless in her questioning about budgeting and finance, referring to questionable figures on the school accounts from so many years ago that the files in question had probably been eaten by the mice that lived in the dark vaults underneath the castle, where such trivial documents were stored. Amelia certainly had had no idea about the financial running of the school; she left that to Mr Hallow, the oily Chair of the Board of Governors.

Hecketty had then started rummaging through the personal files that were kept on members of staff and pupils alike. She had paused when she reached a particularly thick file, labelled "Mildred Hubble" in Amelia Cackle's slanted handwriting. She began reading the list of behavioural offences that this child had managed to commit in only four terms at the school. Flying a broomstick into the Chief Wizard and ruining the Halloween celebrations? Dropping a fire bucket full of water onto the head of Constance Hardbroom? (Her lip curled in near humour after reading that particular entry) Midnight feasts? The record for the lowest overall score in the first year exams- C double minus for heavens sake! Who had scribbled an A+ next to that appalling collection of marks? She stared down at the black and white photograph that was paper-clipped to the pages of type-writer script. A young, carefree face beamed back at her, framed by two uneven plaits that little wisps of hair were escaping from rapidly. A disgrace. She cast her mind back to the assembly, trying to recall the presence of this apparent menace.

There was something about that girl though, she mused. It came to her in a shocked instant. She set the hefty file down upon the sturdy mahogany desk and looked enquiringly at Miss Cackle.

"This girl, Mildred Hubble- where is she? I wish to talk to her"...


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors Note: Warning- this chapter is rated M, it contains graphic, bloody scenes that are not suitable for younger readers. Thank you once again to all those lovely people who have taken the time to write such wonderful reviews, please keep them coming!**

Chapter 7:

Constance Hardbroom stood up shakily, preparing herself for what she now had to do. Mildred had to know the truth. Whatever the personal consequences that she had to face herself, she was going to have to force herself to confront those memories that had been long suppressed, to protect Mildred. With the arrival of Mistress Broomhead, Mildred's life now hung in the balance.

Leaving the assembled girls in the hall in the protective care of Imogen and Davina, she folded her slender arms and disappeared.

Mildred had been sitting in her room, confused as to why she had been banished there. She shifted uncomfortably on the single bed with its thin, under-stuffed mattress, ruffling Tabby's soft fur as he sat purring comfortably in her lap-surely HB didn't think that she was so incompetent that she would get the school closed down if she went to the assembly?

"Mildred!" a hushed voice whispered behind her.

She spun around to see HB sitting on the other side of her bed, her eyes unusually full of concern.

"Mildred, has Mistress Broomhead seen you?" she enquired urgently.

Mildred shook her head. Bravely, she looked up at her form mistress, taken aback by how enormous her hazel eyes seemed suddenly, enlarged with fear and trepidation, framed by translucent white skin. She could now see exactly just afraid she was of the unknown inspector.

"Please, Miss, who is she exactly?" she ventured tentatively.

Constance took a deep breath. "Mistress Br-, Mistress-" She dissolved into bitter tears, the stress of the last few days and her emotions finally overcoming her, she had no mental strength left to admonish herself for this venting of her feelings, her last barriers or attempts at masking her anguish fell by the wayside, exposing the tortured woman that lay beneath at last "she w-was my tutor at Witch Training College, she, she-". Unable to communicate through words any more, Constance pulled back the satin sleeve on her embroidered black dress, exposing for the first time the ugly mass of cuts and scars that were magically razed into the skin that covered her thin arms. Eternal reminders of her past etched indelibly into her flesh.

Mildred gasped in shock, "What on earth did she do to you?"

Constance couldn't even begin to voice the horrific treatment that she had been exposed to. She beckoned to her, and as Mildred shuffled closer she raised her trembling index fingers to Mildred's temples, little silver orbs of light forming at the point of contact, finally daring to allow somebody access to the darkest corners of her memory, to experience first-hand the harrowing episodes that she had tried unsuccessfully to bury in the depths of her mind for fifteen years.

Mildred shut her eyes as thousands of unfamiliar memories washed over her, flickering through different scenes at a breathtaking speed, a kaleidoscope of colours and emotions. A little girl with waist-length ebony hair, wearing a snow-white dress with a blue sash tied around her miniscule waist, skipping barefooted through the dewy grass of the garden, running to the loving, tight embrace of her parents, who stood watching attentively over her, breathing in her mother's musky scent. Her guardian angels. The exciting, delightful feeling of casting her very first spell, discovering the warm sensation of magic in her veins, the swoop of fear and exhilaration as she clung tightly to her mother, her hair whipping in the wind as she experience her first broomstick ride. The satisfaction of memorising and reciting a beginner's potions book off by heart to her learned father and seeing the stunned, proud smile fall upon his faintly lined face.

Then the fateful day when Hecketty Broomhead had stormed into her life.

The woodland cottage exploding in an orange fireball, the force of the wall of heat knocking her off her feet, her adoring parents prepared to pay the ultimate price to protect their little Connie. The overriding pain of trying to deal with the loss of her parents, knowing even at that tender age that they had been murdered in cold blood by the brutal stranger, had eaten away at her insides. Devoid of emotional contact, denied the loving embraces of her family, rewarded instead with kicks, slaps and the increasingly inventive magical methods of torture, both physical and mental, at the merciless hands of Hecketty Broomhead. Connie Hardbroom was missing, presumed dead by the magical community following the explosion at the cottage, nobody ever came looking for her, and Hecketty took responsibility for the young girl, bringing her young protégé with her to the prestigious Witch Training College. Being forced to study amongst people at least five years her senior, being told that she was "special" by Broomhead, that she was a pure witch, a Fairweatherite. Reading a battered copy of The Legend of Lucy Fairweather in Magical Myths and Legends, stolen from the college library, by conjured candle-light in her dingy, cell-like room. Finally understanding just who she was. The warp-speed reminiscences slowed to a near halt. The scenes that had played out in Constance's nightmares were now to be revealed to Mildred.

They had come for her, that fateful night when she had been drifting in and out of a fitful sleep. Her eyes shot open, she had detected an unfamiliar presence in her room. Her fellow year mates, dressed in flowing black capes, their faces blank and expressionless. Broomhead's silent army. They materialised noiselessly in her room, the one instruction that they had been given ringing in their ears.

"Bring the girl to me, unharmed" Hecketty had whispered malevolently to the all those who had lost their souls to her in her attempt to gain perfection. Empty, unfeeling shells with vacant, unfocused eyes, incapable of independent thought. Constance's time had come. Ten pairs of hands had grabbed her shaking body in a vice-like grip, forcing her to her feet; Constance's terrified screams for mercy falling on deaf ears. Their blank faces showed no recognition or emotion as they dragged her to her fate through the dark halls of the ancient building, the moonlight casting narrow beams of light upon the weathered timbers of the floorboards. The only noise made by them was the soft rustle of their trailing capes.

After descending what seemed like hundreds of flights of stone steps, they arrived in a deep vault, buried in the murky depths of the catacombs that ran underneath the college, a chamber whose existence was only known to a select few. A single, flickering brazier lit the room, throwing long, dark shadows into the corners. A black marble, altar-like construction, decorated ornately with carved figures and gold leaf edging sat directly in the centre of the room.

"Bind her," Broomhead's icy tones resonated like a death knell from the shadows.

Nearly passing out in terror, Constance felt herself propelled magically into the air, crashing down onto the unforgiving marble, the freezing surface causing her to gasp involuntarily when it made contact with her skin. Heavy chains tightened around her emaciated form, restricting her frenzied thrashing attempts to escape. Her heart was beating so hard, fuelled by anxiety, it felt as if it would burst through her very chest in its frantic throbbing efforts to keep her blood circulating to her numbing limbs. A gag was placed over her open mouth, the coarse hessian cloth pushed roughly into her, stifling all sound that was fighting to escape from her constricted throat that was raw from her helpless screaming.

Hecketty Broomhead stepped dramatically from the darkness, adorned in floor-length jet-black robes, embellished with delicate gold threading, manic excitement present in her crazed, glinting eyes. Any traces of sanity had abandoned in the pursuit of the ultimate quest for knowledge, for order, for perfection at all times. She gave off an air of focused lunacy. She reached forward and gently caressed Constance's trembling cheek that was soaked with salty tears.

"Oh, Constance- there, there, witches don't cry", she crooned, stroking her student's long hair that had been freshly released from its now customary tight bun, "You are here purely because you have something that I want," her finger traced a frozen pathway down Constance's chest, coming to rest directly over her heart. "The trace of Lucy Fairweather that rests in your soul," she breathed reverently, almost soundlessly into her ear, "the ancient power that runs in your veins, and your veins alone," she paused, letting the words hang in the air, "the power that I yearn to possess"...

The muted students stepped forward, surrounding the incapacitated body of Constance Hardbroom, dark hoods now obscuring their featureless faces. They linked hands with Broomhead, and began chanting, an ancient dark spell of death and destruction.

"Natas, Ythgim Retmas Fo Ym Luos. Ew, Nmednoc Reh Ot Eid. Tsissa Su Ni Ruo Esoprup, Ythgim Retmas".

The chanting grew louder, the deafening sound resonating through her shivering body.

"Natas, Ythgim Retmas Fo Ym Luos. Ew, Nmednoc Reh Ot Eid. Tsissa Su Ni Ruo Esoprup, Ythgim Retmas".

Pain like she had never experienced was tearing mercilessly through her body, raging like a furious storm, crushing her in its wake. A ferocious and relentless attack on her senses.

"Esaeler Reh Lous Otnu Su, Esaeler Reh Lous Otnu Su", the relentless chanting continued to crescendo.

"Spare me!" she screamed, choking on the gag in her mouth, feeling the tissues in her throat rip under the strain, tasting the metallic tang of her own blood in her mouth.

Then the sound of tearing flesh filled the room.

Her own warm, dark-red, ruby blood splattered messily onto her pallid face, fat droplets oozing slowly down her jaw line. Its blazing heat stung against the freezing temperature of her skin. Straining against her unyielding bonds, she retched at the nightmarish sight that confronted her.

The dark magic had torn a gaping hole in her heaving chest, exposing her sought-after soul to the world. Hecketty gazed in delusional wonder at the sight that greeted her. Finally, she had been found, the last Fairweatherite would be forced to surrender to her will. Joy overcame her. She felt the uplifting surge of elation rise in her heart, knowing that her life's work was complete. Her wild, manic shrieks of laughter deflected off the granite walls, her quest for ultimate, eternal wisdom and power fulfilled at last,

But Constance felt the presence of the ancient magic boiling in her veins, consuming her completely, filling her with its immeasurable power. She briefly lost her battle to maintain consciousness as the magic reached its soaring peak. The heavy iron chains holding her snapped and dissolved into nothingness as the blinding white stream of magic erupted from her damaged chest like a volcano spewing out lava. Broomhead was pinned to the floor underneath the devastating force of the purest of magic, shrieking in surprise and twisting frantically in complete agony, tearing in a deranged way at her skin in a bid to remove the voices of the dead, the numerous numbers of those who she had murdered in pursuit of this fateful day, that were now inhabiting and shrieking inside her diseased mind, haunting her, condemning her to her grave, cursing her very existence. Constance's immobile body rose gently into the air. Still emitting the blinding light, the broken body dematerialised, searching for the sacred place to breathe its last breaths on earth.

Constance slammed into the woodland floor, breathing in the earthy aroma of the soaking wet leaves that lay underneath her wrecked body. She was sure that her time had ultimately come, to rejoin her beloved parents, to finally rest in peace alongside them. A faint smile briefly formed on her disfigured, bloody face.

"I'm coming Mummy, I'm coming back to you", was the last promise that crossed her mind before everything faded to nothingness.

Mildred sat in traumatised silence, tears coursing down her freckled cheeks. She had felt every scream emit from her own mouth, sharing every burst of unreal pain that enveloped her body. And yet, Constance had survived, against all odds. Mildred took hold of the cold, skeletal hands that still remained pressed into her aching temples, lowering them gently before reaching out her arms and sharing an emotionally charged embrace with her form mistress, the woman who had travelled to Hell and back in her troubled life. She rested her head on the bony shoulder in front of her, little pools of water from her tears now being absorbed by the black material of the old-fashioned dress.

"Mildred," she heard the quiet voice of Miss Hardbroom say her name. They broke apart and she looked her directly in her hazel eyes, desperately trying to provide some reassurance to the older woman.

"Mildred, do you know of the Legend of Lucy Fairweather?" she enquired gently.

Mildred shook her head, still struck dumb by the sight of the horrific events that she had just witnessed.

Constance cleared her throat and recited the ancient story in her clear voice.

"_Many years ago, the land was controlled by an evil warlord, Baron Overblow, who suppressed the people of the land, imposing his crushing laws, defeating all resistance to his tyrannical rule. He was aided and abetted by the greatest dark sorceress of all time, Harriet Hogweed. It was said that she was born with the Devil in her heart, his representative on mortal Earth. She laid a powerful curse on the castle that he inhabited, enslaving the peasants to a life of eternal servitude to him. The slightest disobedience would result in the instant, excruciating death of the rebel's families. Nobody was prepared to sacrifice their own flesh and blood to end his reign of terror. _

_Until one day, a fair witch with nothing but goodness in her pure heart did battle with Harriet Hogweed in an attempt to end the persecution of her fellow people. Her name was Lucy Fairweather. The vicious battle raged, and the evil Baron was killed, buried amongst the ruins of his prized castle, breaking the curse placed on the peasants, releasing them from a life of toil and suppression. However, before Harriet was destroyed in the aftermath of her curse rebounding, she directed all of her satanic powers at Lucy, striking her down upon the very land that she had risked her life to liberate. _

_As the good witch lay dying, she summoned all of her remaining strength, releasing her pure soul from her mortal body into the air, hoping desperately that fragments of her untainted soul would find hundreds future witches, to allow the eventual destruction of all evils that lurked in the land. _

_And with that final act, Lucy Fairweather bowed her head and succumbed to the deadly curse_."...

She finished her tale and looked at Mildred,

"Mildred, Mistress Broomhead is the last descendant of Harriet Hogweed, a dark, obsessive, controlling witch. It is her belief that it is her destiny to remove all Fairweatherites from the face of the earth. She will control their power and inherit the wisdom that is contained in their souls, the fragments of Lucy's soul. There are now only two Fairweatherites who now exist, others of their kind hunted to near extinction over the decades by descendants of Harriet. They are witches who are capable of unheard of feats of magic as a result of the ancient, pure powers that they possess. I am one of these two witches-"

She broke off and paused, observing the young witch in front of her.

"And I am the other", breathed Mildred in sudden realisation.

Constance smiled softly,

"Yes indeed Mildred, I am certain that you are. I only sensed the limitless power that runs in your veins last night. I have never, ever seen anything like the ability that you demonstrated."

She looked her young student directly in the eye.

"I should have realised this earlier- you, like Lucy, have always there to save the school, risking your own life and safety to protect everybody else from harm. I am also now sure that it was not just chance that you received the part of Lucy Fairweather in our Halloween tableau Mildred. Her spirit lives on in both you and me, coupled with the surroundings of the very castle and its people that she gave her life to save."

Her tone grew much more serious.

"And it is for this reason that Mistress Broomhead must never discover who you are, for she will haunt you until your dying day, desperately seeking possession of your soul, as she does mine".


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors Note: ** **Thank you once again to all those lovely people who have sent PM's and reviews, in particular, the lovely LongVodka who has been nothing but helpful and supportive. Please keep the reviews coming, they really do make my day when I read them!**

Chapter 8- The Beginning of the End

A sharp spasm of pain jolted through Hecketty Broomhead's head as she sat behind the desk in Amelia Cackles cosy office. She flinched as the volume of the buzzing, angry swarms of voices in her ears increased to a near deafening volume. Her existence had been cursed by the consequences of the fateful day that she had last set eyes upon Constance Hardbroom, leaving her to spend her days in excruciating agony, inching ever closer, day by agonising day to her awaiting death. The spectre-like figures that shrieked constantly in her brain that danced permanently in the corner of her vision acting as eternal reminders of her failure to succeed, her one imperfect act that had drastically re-shaped her future.

xxx

Rage had boiled in her, humiliated and left for dead in that murky crypt. She had clung onto life with an unrelenting grip, too feeble to attempt the simplest of magic, clawing her way back to health, dragging her failing body up the unforgiving multitude of stone steps that faced her. Never stopping for breath, never daring to show her physical weakness, even to herself, bitterly crawling on her broken hands and knees to the surface, spitting Constance's name venomously from between her clenched teeth. Constance Hardbroom had become her overriding fixation. The mere thought of possessing the ancient powers present in that woman's soul drove her ever closer to the welcoming, teetering brink of insanity. Nobody ever escaped Hecketty Broomhead. She knew the only way to lift the curse off her doomed existence was to destroy the source of the enchantment. Constance had to die.

This time, she knew that she had the upper hand. She would not be defeated again.

Her mission had seemed hopeless, certain to fail, she was weak, dependant on a constant supply of restorative potions, yet she clutched determinedly onto life, her obsession giving her the enduring strength to fight for each demanding breath. She had spent years pouring over the decaying manuscripts housed in the College library, feverishly deciphering texts written in the ancient tongues of magic.

Trying to locate the last known resting place of her ancestor, Harriet Hogweed.

She remembered well the glorious day when the last shrouds that had masked the truth from her fell away from the cryptic collection of accounts in front of her. She hadn't eaten or slept in months, existing on a never ending supply of Wide Awake Potion, looking up to conjure food only when she was in danger of slumping over the dusty volumes from lack of nutrition. Driven to desperate lengths to avoid the destiny that was rushing to catch up with her, its icy fingers already brushing her shoulder. One could only outrun death for a limited amount of time. Then, that joyous moment! Her wasted muscles strained to raise a delighted smile amongst the sunken features of her waxen face. Hope began flooding into her, strengthening her with optimism. The dull interior of the library took on a brighter hew than it had in years, colours flooding back into her monochrome vision, she could hear the sweet singing of the birds outside for the first time from her self-imposed exile, the noise of the breeze shaking the frail branches of the pale pink blossom trees outside, scattering their heavy, rich scent into the air. She had been right to pursue her ideas. Breathless with excitement, she folded her shaking arms across her bony chest and dematerialised.

In the never ending depths of a dark forest lay an enchanted glade; a sparkling ring of potent magic enclosed the perimeter boundaries, striking dead any who were unworthy to enter the sacred burial ground of the greatest dark sorceress of all time. Hecketty strode through this barricade, brushing its golden light aside impatiently. Her eyes lit up in reverence as she saw the vast, black marble tomb, surrounded by hundreds of flickering ivory candles that had been bewitched to blaze for eternity, that appeared in her vision. The tomb of Harriet Hogweed.

She fell to her knees in awe, raising her shaking hands to the grave in wondrous rapture. Words flowed from her heart, bypassing her brain, an emotional, final plea for assistance from the spirit of the mighty witch, sapping all her remaining strength.

"Teirrah Deewgoh, Tsetaerg Sserecros Fo Lla Emit, I Hceeseb Uoy Rof Ruoy Ecnatsissa Ni Ym ThgilpI.

I Erolpme Uoy Ot Tsissa Em, Eht Tsal Fo Rouy Fo Taerg Stnadnecsed,

Rewopme Em Ot Evomer Eht Rehtaewriaf Egruocs Morf Eht Ecaf Fo Eht Htrae Ythgim Sserecros!"

She paused, her unwavering faith in the powers of the long deceased witch giving her the patientence to wait what seemed like an eternity. A strong wind whipped up, pushing her flat on her face on the leafy floor. Lying prostrate at the feet of her ancestor, her life-force ebbing away with the sheer effort of remaining conscious, the sudden activity more than her aching muscles had had to cope with in years. What if it was a hopeless, fools-errand? Had she pushed herself to the limit to survive these past years to no avail? But then her world regained purpose dramatically.

"I hear you," whispered the quiet voice in her mind, jolting her very senses with surprise and relief.

"I can see into the darkest depths of your mind and soul, Hecketty Broomhead. You have suffered greatly in your attempts to preserve my noble bloodline," the voice continued.

"You have been prepared to risk your life umpteen times in the pursuit of the truth, showing undivided loyalty to your lineage, prepared to fight the plague that has infected the world since the demise of my nemesis Lucy Fairweather". The voice of the spirit of Harriet Hogweed paused, considering her next course of action.

"For this purpose, I invest my powers in you, to bring about the day when the good shall fall, the destruction of the pure of spirit and the restoration of my reign over all lands."

Her delicate voice dropped still further in volume, taking on a malevolent edge.

"However, I do not permit nor tolerate failure. If it transpires that you fail in your efforts, I swear that my vengeance will be far worse than the darkest day in Hell, for I will strike you down and reclaim what is rightfully mine!"

Hecketty shuddered, a wave of fear and self-preservation passing over her splayed form.

"Fear not, for I sense that you will not fail. Go now! Ready yourself; your time to wreck retribution upon the heads of the cursed enemy has come at last!"

A surge of raw energy hit Hecketty, pinning her frail form to the floor, her limbs shaking uncontrollably, convulsing as the tidal wave of power consumed her body, filling her with the mystical power that was possessed by her ancestor. Nothing could describe the intense feeling of the ancient force sweeping through her painful body, lifting her to her dazed feet. Her vision cleared; her unsteady limbs felt surer underneath her than they had been in ages. She flexed her fingers, testing the dark magic that now lurked inside her. A firebolt shot from her outstretched hand, eradicating half of the forest, leaving the smoking ashes of the tree stumps smouldering in the pathway of annihilation that she had effortlessly cleaved in the side of the forest. She gasped in shock, adrenaline coursing through her, her thumping heart reminding her that this was no dream. Her reward had come to her. She revelled in the intoxicating feeling that the magic inspired in her, she could do **anything **and everyone would be powerless to stop her.

xxx

It was fate, she mused, that in her more recent travels that she had stumbled upon another witch who was just as desperate as she was to see the destruction of somebody that they despised. A witch who had been cheated out of what was rightfully hers, a bitter woman who would stop at nothing to get what she desired. A kindred spirit. She had been useful to Hecketty; she had inhabited her soul, twisting her loyalties, forcing her to bend to her rule, creating herself the perfect minion; powerful and driven to fight to the death for her cause. Hecketty had smiled to herself when looking over this woman's memories, always plotting, never succeeding, how like her she used to be! But missing that final spark of commitment to a cause. She had found hers long ago-the endless quest for order, method and accuracy. She knew that she could provide the fatal catalyst to the potential actions that this woman would take, willingly or unwillingly.

She breathed in deeply, reminiscing over how fifteen years solid plotting and planning had brought her to this point. Whatever happened, she felt confident that she had managed to anticipate any possible resistance to her plans. It was time to set the balance right.

xxx

She repeated herself, displeased by Miss Cackle's original response.

"I wish to talk to Mildred Hubble, Miss Cackle. It is my right as an inspector to interview any member of the school, staff or pupil-"

"But-" Amelia tried unsuccessfully to interject.

"At once Miss Cackle!" Broomhead snapped irritably.

Miss Cackle climbed wearily to her feet, dreading the chaos that was likely to ensue if Mildred Hubble was introduced to Mistress Broomhead.

"Please follow me" she sighed dejectedly.

xxx

Constance Hardbroom suddenly sat bolt upright, dislodging Tabby from Mildred's bed with a pitiful yowl of surprise.

"Mildred!" She gasped, her eyes glazing in fear.

"She's coming for you- we have to escape!"

She grabbed her young student tightly by the wrist, hurriedly dematerialising just before Miss Cackles gentle knock fell upon the heavy oak door.

"Mildred?" her gentle tones asked enquiringly.

"Mildred, are you there dear?"

Hecketty Broomhead had had enough. She pushed roughly past Amelia and raised her casting fingers to a height level with the lock on the door. A blinding flash of light and the door swung open. The lock had disintegrated once hit by the devastating power of Hecketty's newly acquired magic.

Both women stared in disbelief at the empty room that confronted them.

xxx

Mildred fought to untangle herself from the dustsheets that she had re-emerged in the midst of, choking on the smothering fumes of white spirit that she was inhaling. She heard Miss Hardbroom mutter a spell to her right and the sheets flew off them, soaring into the air like giant white ghosts, exposing the untidy heaps of broken furniture, abandoned spell books and rotting artefacts that made up the landscape of the store room next to the Great Hall where she had been trapped with Enid last year.

"Why did we end up here, Miss" asked Mildred, looking to her ashen-faced potions teacher for reassurance.

"It was the first place that I thought of, Mildred" murmured Constance absently, pressing her ear tentatively to the damp wall behind her. There was no noise coming from the Great Hall- Imogen and Davina had evidently dismissed the school.

She turned to face her pupil, desperation present in every premature line that traced across her youthful face.

"Mistress Broomhead must have realised the truth about you, Mildred" she said worriedly, her blood pounding in her ears. The final confrontation was now marching unavoidably closer. It was their lives or Mistress Broomhead's now.

She slipped her arm awkwardly around Mildred. Close personal contact was normally something that she abhorred- the last person to try and steal an embrace from her ended up as a toad faster than he could try to croak his desperate apologies- but she had felt the younger girl's unease and had uncharacteristically reached out in a bid to reassure her.

Mildred sat there reeling mentally. She knew that if defeated by Mistress Broomhead, she would undoubtedly lose her life. But she steeled herself for the clash- she trusted Constance Hardbroom unquestionably, her loyalty unerring, her faith in her form mistress was absolute. She would follow her to the ends of the Earth if commanded so to do. She looked determinedly back at Constance, the intense look in her grey-blue eyes conveying more feeling, more trust, and more emotion than could ever be expressed by words alone. Two witches joined irreversibly by fate.

xxx

Hecketty Broomhead strode angrily through the castle corridors, Amelia Cackle desperately trying to keep up with the Inspector who was desperately seeking her prey. She could detect her presence nearby, drawing her ever closer. Mildred Hubble- the other Fairweatherite! Now to kill two birds with one stone...

She paused and pushed open the double doors to the Great Hall. An appropriate setting for the last battle. She marched to the centre of the room, her evil tones ringing in the lofty acoustics, the final summoning, the call to arms.

"Constance!" she threw back her head and bellowed.

Amelia's bemused face appeared at the door as Hecketty raised her index fingers high above her head, finally summoning her secret weapon. Her chosen accomplice, the source of her inside knowledge of Cackles Academy, the ruthless, banished witch that had stumbled unwittingly into her path a few short months ago that had become central to her plans.

xxx

Far away, staring unblinkingly at the boundary wall of the grounds, a witch sat waiting. Her shoulder length fly-away grey hair neatly pushed back behind her small ears, her piercing blue eyes magnified to enormous proportions behind the thick, black-rimmed glasses that were propped upon the bridge of her nose, her hands were trembling in expectation. Finally! The ghostly summons had arrived, calling her to her mistress's side.

xxx

Amelia Cackle stared in utter disbelief at the witch that had materialised at Mistress Broomhead's side. Her blood ran cold as her eyes met with those of her twin sister, the academy's greatest enemy.

Agatha Cackle.


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors Note: So here it is- the last battle- who will triumph in the end? And what will the consequences be for those left behind..**

**Thank you for all the reviews that people have been so kind to leave me - please keep them coming!**

Chapter 9:

"Have you missed me, sister dearest?" snarled Agatha as she straightened up, a vicious grin spreading across her face.

"Thought you'd seen the last of me?" she mocked sweetly, taking great delight in observing the look of utter horror that had fixed upon her twin's face. She raised her hands to shoulder height and fired a sudden hex at her sister that caused her to duck to the floor, forcing her to move faster than she had in decades, smelling the acrid smell of her own singed hair from the curse that had narrowly missed her forehead. Another jet of light flew over her head sealing the double doors in an unbreakable collection of magical locks and chains that snaked over the ancient timber with a metallic hiss.

Trapped.

Amelia shuddered where she lay on the wooden floor, her joints throbbing painfully, an icy sweat breaking out over her warm skin. Would she ever be left in peace by her deranged sibling?

Agatha stepped forward, towering triumphantly over the trembling heap that lay at her feet that was her despised twin. She paused, flexing her casting fingers, savouring the elated moment. For once she had the upper hand, she was in charge. Even when they were younger, Mother had always favoured Amelia, bought her treats, encouraged her and supported her in her magical education, constantly reminding Agatha how superior her wretched sister was! Then, Amelia had used her charming qualities to twist Granny Cackle's arm into leave the school to her in the will! Blackmailing a dying woman into changing her mind, a woman who was so confused by the end that she no longer knew her own befuddled brain- and Amelia had exploited that. She had turned the only relative who had ever loved Agatha against her.

"Agatha, please".. Amelia gasped weakly.

Agatha stared mercilessly back, showing complete disdain for the elderly witch who was grovelling at her feet.

"Time for our other guests to join us, I think", the other icy voice proclaimed.

Hecketty Broomhead raised her arms into the air, dragging her clawed fingers down in an angry trail of dancing orange and red sparks, as if pulling on an invisible rope, conjuring a dark, blurry shape in the centre of the Great Hall. Constance Hardbroom's fragile form was pulled into focus from the fuzzy haze of light that had formed, Mildred Hubble clinging tightly onto her arm, dragged under duress to their forthcoming execution by the indestructible force-field created by Broomhead.

An almighty blast rang out from behind Hecketty, and she wheeled around, firing deadly curses at will, reacting purely on paranoid instinct.

Amelia had taken advantage of the distracting situation and sent a ferocious spell hurtling towards her sister, knocking her off her feet in a flash of blue light. Panting slightly, she pulled herself to her feet, territorial resolve present in her sky-blue eyes. Cackles would not fall to this contemptible woman!

Agatha screamed in vehement fury, venting the full force of her rage towards Amelia Cackle, slamming her aged body into the unforgiving stone wall behind her. Family ties lay forgotten as the two witches began a bitter fight to the death, a cornucopia of spells started flying in a breathtaking rainbow arc over the two women, deflecting each other, creating brilliant flashes of white light at the point of contact, casting and defending simultaneously, duelling unto death. Blood was certainly not thicker than water in the case of these two, mused Hecketty. She knew that Agatha would achieve the victory; her mind was now too deeply infused with Hecketty's influences to not be able to channel her unique powers.

She turned her attention to the two Fairweatherites who were struggling frantically against the force-field that was still holding them in its spinning vortex. She was going to enjoy this.

xxx

Mildred had heard Mistress Broomhead's chilling call to Constance. She knew time was running out, her fate looming inexorably in front of her. She turned to the statuesque witch beside her who was seated uncomfortably, but still with her usual grace and elegance that she somehow managed to maintain at all times, upon the mound of untidily stacked, dilapidated chairs in the dusty storeroom, her head held in her delicate, bony hands, searching for any feasible answer to the unsolvable conundrum that faced both of them.

Before Mildred could utter a final word of reassurance, or contemplate a last plan of action, the room began to stretch and sway in front of her, her vision distorting, a sharp tug pulling upon her very core, stealing her away from the concealing gloom of the cupboard. Constance's hand closed upon her wrist, the intense cold of her flesh radiating into Mildred's skin. Her eyes were closed in silent prayer, pleading for deliverance from her demons, the long dark eyelashes that framed her beautiful hazel eyes trembling in suppressed emotion as a single tear traced down her face.

"Mildred-" she started to form the words of a final farewell before they were torn unforgivingly from her lips, dashed to the floor in mutated blur of syllables and vowels, as the room dissolved around them.

Gazing out from their blurry prison, Mildred and Constance surveyed the unfolding scene in fear. Powerless to assist as Miss Cackle fought single-handedly for her school, her legacy, and her life against...

"Agatha Cackle!" gasped Mildred at the familiar sight of the Headmistress's twin sister.

Constance felt her last reserves of courage begin to drain away from her; she could sense Hecketty's presence, detecting the way in which she had bound herself unalterably to the grey haired witch who was now duelling fiercely against Amelia. She was wound deep inside Agatha's all-too-willing mind, a master-puppeteer pulling the mental strings of her faithful marionette, charging her with supernatural power, the like of which hadn't been seen since the destruction of Mistress Broomhead's own ancestor, Harriet Hogweed...

xxx

With the slightest contraction of Hecketty Broomhead's casting fingers, the vortex fell away from the two incarcerated witches. Weak from their ordeal, they staggered as the spell was lifted.

Constance was prepared, stepping in front of Mildred, shielding her from attack, and struck quickly, unleashing a bolt of pure energy from her extended index and little fingers, a blow that caught Hecketty slightly off her guard, forcing her to step backwards from the two Fairweatherites. A futile gesture compared to the wall of annihilating power that she conjured up, a crushing force that caused Constance to recoil in excruciating, white-hot pain, falling to her knees, her legs buckling underneath the extreme weight of the spell that was pushing her to the floor in agony, but the screams that she heard were not emanating from her mouth...

"Constance, quickly!" yelled Amelia urgently, her voice cracking under the strain, gesturing frantically to the stage, nearly taking Agatha's curse directly in the face as a result of the break in her intense concentration.

Hecketty Broomhead was standing directly in the centre of the platform of the Great Hall, her scrawny arms wrapped almost lovingly around Mildred's throat. A beam of light deflected off the metal blade of the small, razor-sharp, ornate, dagger- enriched with dark magic- that was clutched in her bony hand. The dagger was placed directly over Mildred's heart.

She felt the life drain out of her. Not Mildred. Not the innocent little girl to be sacrificed in her place.

"No! Take me instead!"

Constance begged frantically on her knees, tears streaming down her face.

"My time has come, please spare her!" she wept, in sheer devastation.

Mildred screamed, a blood-curdling shriek evoked by the torturous presence that was worming through her mind, screaming at invisible terrors that were chilling her very soul.

"Kill me!" screamed Constance, who could no longer bear the sight of her pupil writhing in agony at the invisible horrors that were eating into her mind, shaking as if in the grips of a seizure, trying hysterically to escape the demons that were gorging upon the mounting fear that was rising in her pounding heart. The same torture that she had been subjected to mercilessly, incessantly all those years ago.

Broomhead smiled sadistically, all her dreams coming true. The moment for the obliteration of her adversary had arrived, the sight of the once all-powerful, controlled witch that now knelt in front of her, imploring her to end her misery was overwhelming her with joy in the knowledge that fifteen solid years of pursuit had lead her to conquer the witch that had very nearly led to her own destruction.

"Very well, Constance, stand up!" she barked, throwing Mildred violently into a sobbing heap at her feet.

Constance stood and raised her eyes to look her nemesis in the face for one last time. Her time had come. Her death was the only course of action left to take. Strangely, as she confronted her own death, she felt no fear, no sorrow, just a calm acceptance of what was to be. The battle had been lost, evil triumphing over good, she had been powerless to stop it. If her sacrifice was the only event that allowed Mildred time to escape, then so be it. She had cheated death so many times; she would now go peacefully to her rest. She made no attempt to defend herself, standing with her arms spread wide, leaving her heaving chest as an open target as Hecketty raised her arms, preparing to throw the last, deadly curse that would shatter Constance and release her soul.

xxx

Stirring weakly at Hecketty's feet, Mildred suddenly realised the terrible event that was about to take place, she watched hopelessly in a state of paralysis, immobilised in the aftermaths of the torture that she had been subjected to.

Then, as if in slow motion, Mildred felt an ancient stream of magic, the unknown resource that she possessed jolt through her, propelling her at speed across the broad expanse of the room as the lethal spell left Broomhead's fingers, shielding Constance and taking the full brunt of the curse, the impact sending her spinning high into the air. Her back arched as she gracefully sank to the dusty timbers of the ancient floor. Her limp, motionless body lying at Constance's feet.

Loyal to the last.

Mildred had shown the ultimate courage, had put her determined faith into following Constance, trusting her every step of the way, accepting her multitude of criticisms without a cruel word to ever say in return about her. Ever faithful, ever trusting. And she had paid with her life.

Broomhead gasped in delight at the sight of the stricken body of the girl that lay in front of her. The other Fairweatherite had been struck down.

Constance frantically cradled the broken body of her student in her arms, a flood of tears now freely erupting from her eyes.

"Mildred.. Mildred, please"...

She broke off in horror. A dark trickle of blood had escaped from Mildred's mouth. Her motionless body lay in Constance's arms. Her heart stilled to a shuddering stop.

xxx

She was now experiencing the strangest feeling of being neither alive nor dead. Floating in a beautiful limbo where life seemed to glow so brightly behind her, the darkness of death was edging coldly into her forwards path. She searched inside herself, into the very depths of her being for the strength to continue, all her might focused on not letting the inky shadows cover her vision, labouring to draw another gasp of air to restart her breathing. She must fight that numbing feeling that was spreading through her torso! Her blood was beginning to still and clot in her veins, ever gaining viscosity and cloying in a dark, sticky residue. How easy it would be to just let go! To relinquish her fading grip upon existence, to remove the unbearable pain that was pulling her down into the murky depths of death! To surrender unconditionally to the overriding darkness, to allow her passing to take its selfish course, robbing her brutally of the company and affection of those that she loved and cherished beyond measure.

She had grown up more than double her mere fourteen years in the last day, in the last few fateful hours, she reflected, the innocent veil of childhood had been lifted permanently from her eyes, exposing the sinister, bitter world that lay beyond. But who was to say that this world was unable to change, to remove the cancer at the centre that was the presence of evil that feasted on it, drawing strength from the discord and pain that it created amongst people, amongst nations?

Focusing the eternal strength of Lucy Fairweather, channelling her in her veins, she felt the good witch's resolve for the eradication of evil pulsating in her soul. What was she now but a soul, she reasoned? Her broken, mortal body extinct, devoid of life, but the immortal purity of her untainted soul continued to blaze, a towering inferno that burnt far brighter than even the sun that hung, suspended in the stained, scarlet sky of the morning.

Pushing aside and abandoning her human fears and realising the calm acceptance of her fate that flooded through her, she summoned her diminishing, remaining strength to eradicate the source of evil whose satanic laughter was still ringing distantly in her swiftly fading memories, a demonic peal, delighting euphorically in the perceived destruction of her foe.

xxx

The concentrated strength of her magic, unhindered by the lack of the containing vessel of a body rose from her corpse in a beacon of radiance, a force of goodness, that was slowly leeching the life out of Hecketty Broomhead who had inexplicably collapsed, suddenly loosing consciousness as her diseased mind was invaded by the towering might of the force erupting from Mildred's subconscious that was set to destroy her.

The invasion of Hecketty's mind had broken the deadly connection that she had forged within Agatha Cackle, leaving her utterly defenceless against the determined wrath of her sister. Blinking in confusion at the feeling of her limitless powers failing, she was too late to deflect Amelia's next curse from hitting her squarely in the face...

xxx

"I'm not dead, please don't give up hope, because I'm still fighting, I will find a way to come back to you!" Constance heard Mildred's gentle, comforting whisper resonate from deep inside her mind.

She stroked the icy cheek of the lifeless body that lay in front of her, her skeletal hand trembling violently, uncontrollable in her outpouring of grief for the loss of the child who had risked everything to save her. Her kindred soul.

"I hope so, Millie", tears were silently coursing down her already soaked face, "don't leave me..." she breathed silently.

**To be continued...**


	10. Chapter 10

**Authors Note: This chapter covers the aftermath of the battle- who will succumb to their fate and who will live to fight again? Warning- there are elements in this that may not be suitable for people of a squeamish disposition.**

**I love reading any reviews/ PM's that people are kind enough to leave- please make my day and review!**

Chapter 10

Agatha Cackle's momentary loss of concentration had cost her her life. She saw the jet of red light heading straight for her and knew that her time had come. She braced herself, hoping that death would come for her quickly. She flinched at the impact of the spell, but surrendered quickly to the numb feeling that was spreading throughout her corpse. Finally free of the poisonous shackles of Hecketty's possession, she gazed upon the world that she was now leaving with renewed attachment. Looking at her twin, her carbon-copy, her loathed sibling that she had fought against her entire life, they had entered the world together, but would leave it apart. Her dying seconds caused this slight emotional epiphany to rush through her failing brain, for once feeling guilt, her fading senses pleading for a pardon for her evil acts.

"Forgive me, sister" she choked as the lack of sensation reached her chest, her heartbeat slowing to a terminal stop.

xxx

Amelia had initially felt no sorrow as she watched her sister expire and fall to the floor, but as she ran forwards she felt the pricking of hot tears forming behind her eyes. Angrily she brushed them away- Agatha was not worth her pity! But it was the thought that she was her own flesh-and-blood, shared her genetics, her blood, which caused her to relent to some extent.

"Rest in peace Agatha", she murmured, conjuring a dark sheet over the body of her sibling.

xxx

Hecketty Broomhead was thrashing and writhing in agony on the floor of the stage, trapped in an unwaking state of consciousness, every single iota of pain that she had ever inflicted hitting her in one focused surge, provoking an ear-splitting, inhuman scream from her torn, bleeding throat.

Deluded amidst the intense pain, she decided that this was the ultimate, divine test that she must face to eradicate good from the world, she began laughing manically, coughing up dark flecks of her own blood in short, deranged guffaws from her panting, gaping mouth, as if to try and dispel the agony that was ripping her body in two pitilessly. She, Hecketty Broomhead, would be valued above all others- the mighty witch who had successfully removed another Fairweatherite witch from existence, her mighty ancestor would come to save her own, to help lift her from the overbearing force of goodness and purity that had flooded and was torturing her mind. She couldn't have been further from the truth. The vengeance of Harriet Hogweed had arrived as she came to claim Hecketty for her own.

"You failed me!" an outraged shriek of anger blasted through her mind, shattering her eardrums with its deafening resonance, an explosion like a grenade going off erupted in her ear canal, blood oozing in a thin trickle from her wrecked ears as her hearing shut down, leaving her incarcerated inside her own head, inside a black, noiseless hell, oblivious to her surroundings, unable to escape from the shattering wrath of Harriet Hogweed.

"You must now pay the price for your actions, Hecketty Broomhead", the demonic hiss echoed inside her mind, the only sound that she could now detect.

"You do not break your word to me, the solemn oath that was undertaken, the sacred promise made to me upon the very ground of resting place of my mortal body, without suffering the fatal consequences!" the voice menacingly proclaimed.

Hecketty's body began bucking and twitching feverishly as she was submitted to a further increased level of pain, so intense that the receptors inside her brain nearly exploded with the effort of projecting impulses of that magnitude, far exceeding the draining limits of any of her creative methods of torture that she had inflicted on countless numbers of people.

"Killing you now would be easy and far too lenient for a witch who has grossly underestimated the competition that she would face, choosing instead to bask in the reflected glory of **my **eternal powers! Electing to allow the presence of goodness to override any mental resistance that you had, allowing it to overwhelm your feeble mind, reducing you to this pathetic state! Your body will be consumed in the very fires of Hell itself- your soul condemned to an eternity of excruciating suffering!"

And with that final threat issued in the unforgiving tones of Harriet Hogweed, wide tongues of cursed, red flames began devouring the body of the cursed witch who was unable to hear her own frantic, blood-chilling screams, but could still smell the sickening, repulsive, charring smell of her own scorching, blistering flesh as she was burnt alive in the demonic fires that raged all around her stricken body, leaving nothing but a pile of sooty, dark grey ashes upon the polished wooden boards, all traces of the evil witch erased forever from existence.

xxx

Amelia had watched on in horrified disbelief at the screaming, shaking form of Mistress Broomhead that had been twisting around in agony, clawing at the invisible forces that had invaded her mind, her long talons tearing deep gashes in her pale skin, dark red droplets of blood dribbling down her limbs, leaving ruby stains as the blood was absorbed by the ancient timbers of the floor. Then, the convulsing woman had burst into flames, blazing red bursts of satanic light boring through her form, roasting her flesh, burning her alive. She could only watch on helplessly as Hecketty was consumed by the flames. Justice had been served.

She turned to gauge Constance's reaction to this extraordinary event, to witness the sight of the demise of the hated woman who had made her life a hell on earth. What she saw next made her heart skip a beat.

Constance was frantically sobbing over the cadaver of a little girl, whispering softly to the lifeless body.

Mildred Hubble.

Amelia was wiping the tears away from her eyes as an explosion of grief hit her full on- no student of hers should ever have met fate like this! She felt like a knife had been plunged into her guts. She had cared for them all deeply, like a mother, and she felt the loss of Mildred as strongly as she would have felt the loss of her own child. She walked over and placed a shaking hand on the bony shoulder of her loyal deputy who was breaking down over the lifeless body of her young student. United in sorrow.

"Come away Constance, there's nothing that we can do now, let go of her" she cajoled, choking back her own tears. Constance broke off from her murmurings and raised her red-rimmed hazel eyes to Amelia, beseeching her to understand.

"But I can hear her!" Constance choked on raw emotion, "She's not gone- she can't be gone!"

Amelia knelt stiffly upon her aching knees that were scraped and painful from the battering that they had taken in the duel and gently applied a slight pressure below Mildred's downy eyebrows, closing the soft eyelids over the staring, unfocused, glassy eyes that saw nothing of the world around her.

"She's moved on, Constance" she reiterated quietly.

Amelia paused, considering her next move. She conjured a soft couch, covered in black velvet and Mildred's body gently levitated onto it. Another gentle flick of her fingers and a bouquet of lilies appeared at the girl's feet. Resting in peace.

She turned away, allowing herself and Constance time to grieve in their own individual ways. She knew Constance of old, and knew that she would want to mourn in private. The tears that she had been frantically holding back now ran freely down her lined face in a silent, scalding stream.

xxx

Mildred had observed this entire scene, desperately wanting to return to the people that she loved, her heart calling out to them, pleading for them not to give up hope for her.

There was something almost beautiful about death, she mused, her young body frozen in memories for an eternity, development ceased, but then again, there was something more sinister about seeing only the blank shell of a corpse, no light of life gleaming in the eyes, inanimate, a mere graphic representation of life.

The artist within her was looking down upon her body and its papery-white skin, seeing only a blank picture for her to restore with the imaginary pallet of colours in her mind, focusing upon a living canvas on which she could create her own self-portrait, her epitaph , a detailed illustration of life. Drawing, sketching back the detail into her corpse, forming every little worried crease in the skin, a new, beating, unbroken heart was created to the last minute detail and located amongst the tired tissues of her chest. She paused to select a beautiful grey-blue from her fantasy colour block, painting existence back into her closed eyes, causing a faint sparkle of light to illuminate them once more, adding a pale pink flush to the skin of her effigy, reinstating the delicate contrast to the creamy white skin that she had reclaimed from the greyish tinges that it had assumed, her deathly pallor lifting as the rosy flush of blood crept back into her veins. She concentrated upon adding a faint gloss of chestnut brown to the long, lank tendrils of dark hair that hung, devoid of life down over her shoulders, taking time to breathe the essential essence back into her masterpiece, focusing her unique talent to lift her own portrait off the page, pulling the world back into focus, willing with all her might for her powers to return her towards the mortal life that she had recently departed, now as master of her own destiny. She was coming back. Her drawing started fidgeting nervously; beginning to chew upon its bottom lip as life started to flood back into the body.

"Old habits die hard!" she thought, and then cursed for loosing her concentration as the depiction became static once more. She was clinging onto the brink of existence now, determinedly focused on restoring movement to the magnum opus , her last ounce of strength directed at her own resurrection, hoping that she could lift the living illustration off her mental canvas into her own, freezing corpse that she was still looking down upon. Her last reserves were running out, coming down off the peak of that tidal wave of magic, plummeting beneath the surface of the icy waters, drowning, sinking towards her watery grave.

xxx

Constance looked up to see the ghostly figure of a little girl sitting next to her, observing her own broken body. Her hair was pulled back into lop-sided pigtails with little wisps of escaping hair; the ever untied bootlaces on the clumsy black hobnailed boots that adorned her feet left her an accident waiting to happen. She was smiling a gentle smile that laid no blame. The girl's small hands reached out and touched her upon her fragile wrist, unable to communicate through words anymore, but expressing all the things that she had never said in one glance. How much she respected her, how she trusted her, the numerous reasons as to why she laid down her life to save her, all listed in a single, emotionally charged gaze. The pale outline was becoming increasingly more transparent, her energy draining from her as she was losing her final battle. Constance reached back with her own slim hands, desperately trying to touch the ethereal hand palm to palm.

"Please don't give up Millie!" she whispered, trying to pull the spectre closer to her, yearning to protect her for one last time."Keep fighting!" Her arms closed upon thin air, her sweeping movement fanning a cool breeze upon her face, partially drying the tears that lay there. Walking between life and death, treading the finest line of existence, fading away to mere memories, the pale phantom vanished above the body of her mirror image.

She had gone.

Constance had been clutching at the diminishing straws of hope, but she couldn't even detect the faintest traces of Millie's soul now. For years she had existed, believing that she was the last of the Fairweatherites, then the incredible moment when she realised that she wasn't quite alone in her melancholy world, that there was somebody else who understood exactly what her tortured existence meant, somebody who she had been brave enough to confide her darkest fears and recollections in, somebody who hadn't been repelled by her horrific story, but had actually found it within themselves to reach out to her and offer her a source of comfort.

A familiar wave of self-loathing swept over Constance as she continued to deliver her silent eulogy, not for the outpouring of her affection and trust, (for once in her life not pre-planning what she said to the exact syllable, but allowing the liberation of her speech from her own self- censorship, permitting her defences to fall to provide people with the chance to sneak a glimpse at the secretive woman who lived behind the constructed walls, a woman capable of love, empathy and trust), not for this emotional outburst, but for the aching loss inside her that told her that there was nobody other than herself who was responsible for Mildred's death. If she had simply given herself up to Hecketty all of this agony would have been spared, she could have met her end, surrendered her worthless life to bring peace to Cackles-but no! She just **had **to involve Mildred, to put her life at risk! To make her a human shield in front of her, helpless to defend her ally against the crushing forces of dark magic. She had abandoned Mildred in her hour of need, too weak even to save herself- the girl should have left her to die in retribution for this desertion, but she had been so selfless that she had instinctively given her own life in place of Constance's.

She lent forward and deposited a light kiss upon the clammy, cold forehead in front of her, her soft lips brushing briefly against the icy surface, one simple action apologising for a multitude of sins one thousand times over.

She recoiled in fear at the feel of a faint rush of blood under the frozen skin as her lips made contact; she was hallucinating now, surely? Her own tortured conscience was giving her one final, cruel reminder of the damage that she had done. It was impossible! Her long, slender fingers felt the side of the girl's neck, trying to prove mercilessly to herself that her surge of hope had come as a result of her mind playing its sadistic tricks upon her; instead, she gasped audibly in astonishment as she felt the faint flicker of a pulse ticking away.

Back from the dead.

**I will be posting a final Epilogue soon...**


	11. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Blood had begun to flow freely through the once sealed veins underneath the unblemished pale skin, the abandoned heart resuming its slow and steady rhythmic ostinato, a faint pink, rosy flush was now appearing on the face of the young girl like a beautiful new dawn emerging from behind the grey, silhouetted clouds of a morning sky, the calm after the raging storm of the night, as vitality spread slowly through her body, energy returning to her wasted muscles, flowing like a frozen river melting after an perpetual bitter winter, sparkling crystals of ice melting away in the light, blackness surrendering to the overcoming force of life that was pushing away the dark veil of death that had shrouded her in its gloom. Her lungs were demanding oxygen; now free from their watery prison they took in a shuddering, frail gasp as the paralysis lifted gradually from her body, the enclosing, crushing iron cocoon of death being shed to finally reveal the beautiful creature that lay beneath.

Her eyelids twitched as consciousness began to return to her, welcoming her triumphantly back to the mortal world that she had so nearly bowed out of minutes before. Her cracked lips parted as she inhaled again, the cool breeze flowing over the lightly moistened surface, the simple act re-firing her nervous system, the impulse travelling at blinding speeds through the tangled, never-ending network of neurones and synapses, receptors in her groggy brain telling her that this sensation was not an elaborate construct of her reeling mind, not a projected hallucination- but that she was most definitely alive! Her soft eyelids lifted, finally exposing the sought-after world that lay beyond the dark hell that she had been trapped in for what had seemed an eternity, the familiar oak panelled interior of the Great Hall at Cackle's Academy swam into view, welcoming her home to rest from her weary journey, the winter sunshine that was filling the room was diffracting in a gentle arc from the thin glass windows, illuminating the hall, saturating it with a celestial light that bore harshly into her sensitive retinas, causing her to squint as she surveyed the sight that she had been fighting to return to. A light shadow was cast upon her face, blotting out some of the blinding light, allowing her to observe the tall, willowy woman who was staring back at her in astonishment, brushing away the tendrils of ebony hair that had escaped from their normally faultless, tight, restraining bun that had fallen in a protective curtain across her gaunt face, as if to attempt prove to herself that she could trust the joyous vision that her mystified eyes were showing.

"Millie"... she breathed, her trembling hand reaching forward to gently caress the cheek of the girl that lay on the velvet-covered slab in front of her.

"I thought, I- I-" she broke off as a stream of relieved tears cascaded slowly down her hollowed cheeks, the caring look that she sent Mildred displaying more than a thousand words, a silent expression of hope, relief, shock, pain and amazed wonder at the sight of the girl that she had feared to be dead, who she dreaded that she had lost forever, that was looking all around her, existence blossoming, ever growing in her sparkling cobalt eyes.

"You came back", she whispered hoarsely.

Mildred pulled her aching muscles into what resembled a fatigued smile as her eyes met with Constance Hardbroom's.

Reunited at last. This was the moment that she had been fighting for, to return to the only woman in the world who shared her powers, who's shared presence was embedded in her very soul.

"Miss"... she managed to pronounce before slumping into an exhausted, calm sleep- the draining exertions of the past hour catching up with her and overcoming her pitiful attempts to remain awake in a brief moment.

Constance smiled gently at the sight of the young girl sleeping peacefully in front her, watching the faint rise and fall of her chest as she slept.

"How did you do it Millie?" she pondered to herself, "how on earth did you do it, to show such strength, to fight, to return to us?"

There would be time for discussion later.

She stood up and beckoned the watching Amelia Cackle over, overwhelming relief present in ever fibre of her body.

Amelia limped slowly over and gasped in disbelief at the sight that confronted her. She had survived! Completely unblemished apart from a single bloody cut on her bare arm that Amelia quickly healed with a bright blue burst of magic.

She straightened up, puzzling over the sudden connection that had formed between the usually frigid, emotionless deputy, and her, until recently, most despised pupil. A magical bond of extreme depth had seemingly formed between the two witches, linking them irreversibly, binding them by fate. The sight of the usually detached witch with her passion for order and calm breaking down and sobbing with complete abandon of her icy defences over the body of her student had moved Amelia beyond words. She knew that the tortured woman had finally expressed her pent-up emotions, unable to hide how scared beyond measure she was at the prospect of loosing Mildred, even attempting to give her own life to spare the girl. But what was this link that had been forged between the two previously warring parties? Amelia shook her head. There would always be some things about Constance that would be forever inexplicable, masked in mystery.

xxx

In the quietness of her dreams, Mildred was trying to comprehend what her confused mind was telling her.

She remembered the murky depths that had finally enveloped her, casting the canvas and image that she had been frantically focusing on recreating down into the dark abyss below. How could she possibly continue when the last minute speck of her resistance had faded? Relinquishing her last hold on existence she was falling into the dark void of time, plummeting out of sight, looking up at the ever decreasing, disappearing, fading, chink of light that was her life.

It is said that your life flashes before you the second before you die. Mildred remembered looking up at the storm of memories that raged above her, the timeline of her life as she descended into the shadowy depths of death, every image revealing its own story. The picture of the little girl blowing out the candles on her seventh birthday, exactly half her short life ago, the day when she had first realised her magical ability (when blowing out the candles, the flames had been pushed onto the tablecloth setting it alight), her first day at Cackles, crashing into those unforgiving metal dustbins, the faces of her best friends Enid and Maud swan in front of her, reminding her of all the happy times that they had shared, another image made her smile in reminiscence-the day when she had turned Ethel Hallow into a pig!, defeating Agatha Cackle and her henchwomen, then, finally discovering who she was, what she was, witnessing the agonising sight of Constance Hardbroom laying down her life to spare her, flying uncontrollably across in front of her, the curse hitting her directly in her chest, falling down to her death.

How she would tell anyone of the vision that she had seen then?

A voice had whispered an incantation, her falling slowed, the mist cleared to reveal a short woman with bobbed blonde hair, slightly translucent and ghostly in her appearance, dressed in flowing dark green robes walking towards her.

"Hear me, worthy one" she smiled gently, her voice echoing in the vast space, "For I am good-witch Lucy Fairweather here to save you from your plight! Your kindred soul was prepared to sacrifice herself to save you, activating the deepest of magical bonds that can exist between witches, the moment of such a selfless act to save another."

Mildred was certain that she had been hallucinating, but the comforting presence of the witch, her ancestor told her not to be afraid of what was to come.

"Fear not ye maiden! For you have fought so against the evil that aims to overrun our world. Take courage! Constance was prepared to lay down her life to save you, and you in turn risked your own to save her. You two witches have a destiny to fulfil; your time has not come- for you still have great work to do!"

She placed a comforting hand upon Mildred's shoulder.

"You witches are my last true descendants, determined to fight the darkest forces of evil, all others who fought for this cause extinguished over time by the wicked descendants of Harriet Hogweed, eradicated in the eternal feud between our two lineages!"

Green eyes met with blue, a direct, trusting stare between the relatives.

"But go now little one, for the battle is not over, my powers may have been tainted over time, decreasing in strength, but trading on the strength and unwavering courage that you have shown, I know that I am able to assist you in your return!"

"Until we meet again, brave Mildred"...

xxx

Constance removed her index fingers from Mildred's temples, leaving her to dream in peace. She had seen all that she needed to see. A faint moan caused her to look down at the stirring girl.

Mildred rose unsteadily, easing herself into a sitting position next to Constance, feeling the icy points of contact upon her forehead.

"You saw?" she questioned quietly.

Constance nodded, pulling her into a gentle, understanding embrace. Mildred had been spared from death by the protective spirit of Lucy Fairweather, who now watched affectionately over them both, the last two of her descendants. Their shared ordeal was finally over.

xxx

Appearing from the shadows, the scarlet light from the flickering, satanic flames danced over her broken, deformed face giving her an even more sinister appearance. Calmly, she adopted her trademark stance, long bony arms folded across her chest, staring obsessively earthward, wordless, but simply smiling malevolently, knowing that even in death and contained in Hell as her prison, nothing could hold her from fulfilling her destiny.

She could wait with inexhaustible patience, for now, but not forever.

**THE END**

**Authors Note: I would like to say a HUGE thank you to the lovely LongVodka who has helped me beat the writers block that has plagued this chapter as well as setting up some interesting future developments for other stories! There is a planned sequel in the planning stages, hence the teaser in the last scene! Please review and make my day!**


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